Cure All
by girlstarfish
Summary: No one said finding a cure for Al would be easy. But then again, no one said there would be stockings involved.
1. Default Chapter

Stockings and metal was a bitch of a combination.

Edward kicked his shoes off and collapsed back onto his bed. The stockings could wait. Now, he just wanted to be off his feet. Two six hour shifts in one day and barely enough time to grab a snack and a nap in between. And there was so much to remember--four new patients!-- and there were samples to file on top of that, and then there was his laboratory notes . . . Edward sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment before rolling over onto his stomach and reluctantly reaching for his notebook.

And here he'd thought alchemy was hard.

He discarded the white headscarf that marked him as a trainee nurse, but he left his hair in the ponytail -- the last thing he needed was for it to be in his face while he worked. The uniform was uncomfortable but if he ignored it and finished the notes, maybe he could phone Al before curfew. His brother certainly worried enough, and Edward had to admit that he missed him. This was the longest he and Al had ever been apart. His brother handled the separation by phoning and sending food packages at every conceivable opportunity, to the extent that every staff member in the hospital knew about Edward's "boyfriend". Edward complained about that, and the implication that Edward couldn't feed himself . . . but not strongly enough to make Al stop. Even though all this was for Al's sake, his cure, Edward regretted it. It felt like betrayal--In the face of Al's determination not to be left behind by his older brother, Edward was somewhere Al couldn't follow. Gifted alchemist and loyal though Al might be, he could not be accepted as a trainee in a woman-only mid-wifery programme.

Granted, the woman-only part gave Edward problems too -- most notably the stockings. God, they itched! Luckily, he'd managed to pass off his complete lack of grace or feminine qualities as due to being a country girl with little experience in dresses and high heels. Make-up and padding helped, and he managed passably, so long as he remembered to speak quietly and be polite to people -- and to keep his metal covered, hence the despised stockings.

Finally! Notes finished, Edward stretched, then slowly massaged his flesh hand. About time. He was looking forward to talking to Al--

The door swung open even before he'd had time to register the knock. Edward snapped his notebook shut, hoping that nothing was showing that shouldn't be. Lucky he hadn't changed out of his uniform. "I didn't say come in--"

"This is an emergency, Miss Rockbell. Report to reception immediately." Ward-master Hall sounded harried. "A military unit was attacked near here; since we're the nearest medical facility, they've come here. Your help is required; now go."

He didn't wait for a response, but rapped on the next door in the dormitory.

Edward stepped into his shoes, retrieving his head scarf. Not soldiers. "But we're a maternity center--"

"In an emergency situation, everyone does what she can. You know how to patch a wound, I hope?" Hall obviously considered the matter settled.

Edward slowly walked downstairs. He should hide; the chances of being recognised and having his cover blown were too high. He was so close, only another month and he could have the information he needed. But . . . it was an emergency. Al would not accept a human life as the price of his cure; Edward knew that. But this--this was different. He would not be directly responsible if--

Edward stopped. It was no different. Al would not accept his not trying to help, any more than he would Edward using human life for the cure. And even if he didn't tell Al, well -- Edward would know. He would always know. With a sigh, Edward adjusted the headscarf.

"It's a pain being such a great person," he said, straightening his uniform and stepping into the main ward. "Sometimes I--"

Blood.

The smell of it was strong and rancid, with it the acid tinge of smoke. It curled in Edward's stomach, twisting as he stared.

The pristine maternity ward was a mess of activity. People everywhere: nurses struggling to find enough beds for people, soldiers in uniform on the floor or leaning beside a bed, waiting their turns. And there was blood, a lot of it, and shit, that was bone and there was so much noise and god, the smell--bitter smoke and then in the darkness something moved--

"Snap out of it, trainee!"

Edward jumped, startled to find himself addressed by one of the doctors. A tray was pushed into his hands; and, while he struggled to understand the bandages and equipment within, the doctor who had spoken pushed him towards an unattended ward.

"This is no time to be getting faint! Clean and bandage anything you can, and alert a senior nurse to anything more serious. Get to it!"

"Yes, sir."

The response was automatic and Edward didn't even register it. He moved towards the ward holding the box tightly. He could do this. He'd patched wounds before -- true they were usually his own but even so--

It was easy, once he stopped thinking about it. Antiseptic and bandages, painkiller for those that needed stitches. It helped that he was already tired, the fatigue making this automatic. Clean the wound, ascertain the patient's condition. Apply the bandage. Move on to the next. The ward cleared and filled again as a military truck arrived to take those already treated to less haphazard surroundings, and those still waiting took their places. It was almost dreamlike, a slow sequence of unrelated details, the startlingly crisp uniform on one new recruit, the smell of cigarettes as an ensign passed through, tallying up who was present and who unaccounted for, the very blue eyes of one of his patients--

It must have been hours, Edward thought, moving aside to let the young woman whose arm he'd just bandaged to be shifted out, turning automatically to the next bed. At least they had beds for them all, now--

He couldn't move his hands.

Edward stared until he realised that those weren't his hands, that someone had placed their own hands over his. Gloved hands, stained with smoke and dirt and red peeking through, too sharp, too smooth to be blood. An intertwined circle, an array--

"This is certainly an unexpected pleasure."

The voice was smooth despite being roughened, and the smirk it contained readily apparent. Edward looked up to find himself facing very familiar amused eyes.

"Colonel Mustang!"

"I hardly expected to meet you here," Roy's eyes flickered down to Edward's name card and then back up. "Elisabeth?"

Edward tugged his hands free of Mustang's sharply, turning away to straighten his uniform. "I can't say I expected to see you here, either."

"That's a new look for you, Fullmetal." Damnit, Roy didn't have to sound as though he was enjoying the view. "It suits you."

"Don't call me Fullmetal," Edward said sharply, straightening the contents of his tray. "I'm undercover--" He yelped, swatting Roy away. "Get your hands off me!"

Roy's smile was unrepentant. "I was just wondering how undercover you'd gone."

"You lech! Don't you care that there are other people in the room--"

"Other people?"

Edward looked around. The room was empty save for the two of them. When had that happened? "Are you really the last patient? But why? Surely your rank--"

"There were others with more serious injuries. I could wait. Besides, I'd never ask my men to endure something I wouldn't." Now that Edward looked, he could see fatigue and pain in Roy's face, not completely hidden by the smug mask the man wore. "Besides, when Havoc mentioned that while taking roster, he'd passed a pretty young nurse who was uncannily like our missing alchemist, I decided to wait."

Oh, crap.

"Now," Roy's lazy smile said he enjoyed being in control. "What do you have to say for yourself, Fullmetal?"

"Where is your injury?"

Apparently that wasn't the response Roy was expecting. It wasn't what Edward was expecting either; it just happened. "Excuse me?"

"You said there were others with injuries more serious, so obviously you were injured. Tell me where it is, and I can bandage it for you." Edward sounded determined now, more sure of himself.

Roy looked as though he was having serious misgivings about this.

"In case you haven't noticed, I've been bandaging your men all night. I'm not wearing the trainee's uniform for nothing."

Roy nodded slowly, lying back against the headboard. "Some shrapnel grazed my thigh."

"Your thigh?"

Roy shifted so that Edward could see the torn uniform. Brilliant. There was no way he could treat that while keeping Roy's pants on. The bastard probably planned it that way. Edward reached for his scissors, cutting away the fabric sourly.

It appeared Roy wasn't delighted about this either. "This is my dress uniform!"

"Was your dress uniform," Edward corrected. "What happened?"

Roy sighed, watching Edward work. "We've been keeping the peace in an outlying suburb -- a couple of gangs at odds with each other were causing trouble for regular citizens. We were just wrapping things up tonight, about to head back to Central, when . . . " He shrugged. "A car loaded with explosives was set alight near the barracks. Most of the men were off duty, so--"

Edward didn't really want to think about that. "Were the others . . . I mean, was anyone--"

"If you're wondering about Hawkeye and the troops, they're all fine. I'd sent most of them, except Havoc, on a surveillance mission in the next town."

That was something, at least. To be honest, Edward wasn't sure if he and the military were on the same side anymore; but, all the same, he didn't want something like this happening to someone he cared about. He was thoughtful as he carefully wiped the dirt and dried blood away from the gash in Roy's leg. "You should have had someone look at this sooner," he said. "It looks like you've got shrapnel in there."

"You can remove it?"

"Yes," Edward admitted reluctantly. "But it will hurt like a cow."

"Then get it over with."

Bossy as ever. Edward found a sterile pair of tweezers and started to work. "I expect you're wondering why a maternity clinic?" he said, so he wouldn't have to think about what he was doing, and because Roy would have asked eventually.

"I assume you've abandoned research into the Philosopher's stone and are researching natural human growth, which you intend to replicate." At Edward's sharp intake of breath, Roy managed a slightly pained smirk. "Am I wrong?"

"You've got the most of it."

"I see. And have you made progress?"

Edward carefully removed a sliver of metal. "I think it would be possible to grow and mature a human body by artificial means. Of course, that body still has to start somewhere, and it's that I'm researching. I want to determine the point where a human life starts and join Al to the body at precisely that point -- any later and you run the risk of creating a homunculus."

"So that way you avoid taking human life, as well? Thats all good in theory, Fullmetal, but what will you experiment with? Surely not the pregnant women here--"

"Who do you take me for, Tucker? I have more morals than that," Edward snapped, viciously freeing another fragment. "We will start at the very beginning. You may not know this, Colonel, but one of the staff here has produced a method of fertilising an egg artificially and developing it in an artificial womb--he aims to help women who can't bear children to have a child of their own."

He could be having an open wound picked at, and still be grabby? Edward slapped Roy's hands away again. "Leave it. This clinic has a long policy of accepting only female nurses, to help the mothers feel more comfortable. This is in no way a statement of my personal tastes."

"A pity."

Edward took revenge by bathing the wound with liberal amounts of sterilizer. It was somehow immensely satisfying hearing Roy whimper. "You were saying?"

"Have pity, Fullmetal, please--"

Appeased, Edward began to bandage. He'd had plenty of practice that evening, and it wasn't long before the wound was neatly tied off. "Well," he said, gathering everything back onto his tray. "I'll just be going then--"

"I think not."

This time Roy was not so easily slapped away. "Let go! Look, I patched you up, didn't I? The least you can do is--"

"Let you disappear again?" Roy sounded supremely amused. "What do you take me for, Fullmetal?"

Roy's hand was insistent on Edward's good wrist, caught at an angle just the right amount of painful that Edward was brought down to the level of the bed. He managed to get a knee onto the bed to steady himself, but couldn't pull away. "What are you doing, you bastard--" He yelped as he felt a touch on his thigh. "The hell do you think you're doing? Do I look like a girl?" Roy laughed, withdrawing his hand although he still kept his hold on Edward's wrist. "Don't answer that--"

Roy's fingers cupped Edward's chin, forcing his eyes up. "Its been a while, Fullmetal," he said, silky. "You've ... matured."

"WHO ARE YOU SAYING HASN'T GOTTEN TALLER?"

Roy winced, letting go of Edward's wrist. "I stand corrected."

That was the last straw. Edward viciously lashed out with his free hand, determined that he was not enduring anything more from Mustang. The Colonel was expecting this and blocked Edward's move with a smug grin that only served to make Edward even angrier. He struggled wildly, sending the contents of the tray flying.

"Temper, temper." God, Roy sounded like he was enjoying this, the bastard. "You know they say that stress can stunt growt--nnnghHH!"

Edward flailed, suddenly free, and barely managed to escape an undignified tumble off the bed. He grabbed the covers to steady himself. What had happened?

Mustang was pale, his breathing pained. "Needle--"

The syringe. Edward winced, his own skin prickling in sympathy. Somewhere during the fight it had been embedded in Mustang's leg. "Hold still."

Mustang let out a sharp breath as the syringe was pulled out. "My thanks." He took a deep breath and a moment to steady himself. "Fullmetal, tell me that syringe was empty?"

"It is now."

"And what, pray tell, was in it?"

He didn't think he'd ever heard Mustang sound quite so strained before. One for the record books."Only some of our strongest painkillers."

"Ah. Fortuitous, that. I seem to be in considerable need of painkillers." There was a pause as Roy shifted. "So why a cow?"

"Excuse me?"

"You said it hurts like a cow. Why a cow? Why not a horse? Or, for that matter, something more obviously lethal?"

Edward shrugged, massaging his wrist. "Pinako didn't like us using 'bitch'." He watched Roy hold a hand out in front of him and squint at it. He'd been stupid to think that Mustang might be willing to overlook his presence in the ward, to imagine that the man owed him any favours. He'd be lucky if he was even given the time to pack up his notes.

"Edward--"

There was something strange in Mustang's tone that made Edward look up.

"It wouldn't hurt to file a report once in a while, you know." Roy looked uncomfortable. "Hawkeye was concerned by your and Alphonse's long absence."

"Reports can be intercepted. Besides, this research isn't exactly of use to the military." Edward shrugged. "We thought you'd stop us."

"Even so, it would be prudent to avoid worrying Hawkeye. She's scary when she's worried."

"She's scary any time."

Roy sighed and Edward was suddenly surprised to find himself pulled close. "Edward," he said, voice slightly unsteady. "What I'm trying to say . . ."

His fingers lingered over Edward's lips and Edward felt himself shiver involuntarily. "So, what is it?"

"Patience, Edward. What I'm trying to say . . . " Roy's fingers brushed his cheek gently, and Edward could feel the roughness of the granite crystals embedded in his gloves even through the gentleness of the caress. "What I'm saying is . . . " His cheek pressed against Edward's, the warmth of his breath lingering over Edward's skin. A moment passed in anticipation and then he bent towards Edward's neck.

"And?" Edward prompted. Mustang was heavy and the strange unaccountable lethargy that seemed to have come over Edward at his touch was quickly dissipating.

Mustang snored.

"You bastard! You can't fall asleep after saying something like that!"

Mustang, apparently, could. Shaking him didn't help and Edward had to admit that an unconscious Colonel Mustang was, in many ways, preferable to an awake one. He settled Mustang back on the bed, more out of habit than out of any concern for his unexpected patient, weighing his options. Flight was always an option, but he couldn't bear it, not when they were so close to a cure . . .

Edward sighed, picking up his scattered equipment. Running wasn't a choice. Who knew when they'd get another chance like this? He studied the Colonel's sleeping face wistfully. It would be too much to hope that they'd be able to keep out of the way of the military entirely, but even so . . . maybe they could come to some kind of arrangement.

God, how to break it to Al? Edward drew his hand over his face and groaned.

A second later, he stirred. There was something strange in that contact, something lacking. Roy's touch was different somehow--

It was odd, lifting Roy's hand to his face. For one the hand was limp and heavy, and it took both of his to hold it. And then, it felt vaguely perverted. Knowing that the owner of said hand probably had the rights to the term "pervert" didn't make things any better. All the same -- Edward shut his eyes trying to determine what made this different.

Roy's hand was warm, his fingers rough but still somehow gentle. Working hands, but refined. The smell of smoke and battle still hung on the gloves, but there was something else, something that could only be defined as Roy--

"Colonel Mustang!" The door swung open with military briskness and Edward jumped, dropping Roy's hand as if burned. "Sir, the transport you requested--"

The two soldiers and Edward stared at each other.

"Uh . . . he, that is, the Colonel, is asleep right now," Edward said. God, why was he blushing?

"Ah . . . So he is." The soldiers didn't seem to be any more aware of what to do than Edward. "Have you, uh, finished?"

"Finished what?"

"Um, the Colonel's wounds -- you know --"

Edward blinked. That seemed an age away now. "Oh. Oh, yes, his wound. I've bandaged it. He just needs to remember to change the bandages regularly and not to do anything that will open it." He stood up, holding his tray tightly. "I'll just be on my way."

"Our thanks, Miss."

Edward nodded, uncomfortably aware of how short the trainee uniform was, and how he'd never quite got the hang of walking like a woman. He couldn't help a sigh as he shut the door, resting his head against it as he tried to calm himself down. He'd kept this disguise up for weeks. He wouldn't go to pieces now. Think of Al. Think of Al.

Of course, resting his head against the door meant he could hear the conversation on the other side.

"Can you believe it?"

"And I thought all that talk about the Colonel was just rumours." There was an impressed whistle. "Pulling a looker like that, and while he's unconscious--"

What? Edward blinked. What exactly did they think happened?

"I hate to think what we'd have been interrupting had he been awake--"

Edward saw red. He was just about to march back into the room and inform the soldiers of how gravely they were mistaken when a hand grabbed his wrist. Startled, he managed to stop himself from punching the ward director in the guts, but only barely.

"It's been a long night, Miss Rockbell," the ward director said gravely, and Edward was startled to recognise the name he'd given the hospital. "I think some well-deserved rest is in order. We can talk in the morning."

"Yes, sir."

That was a clear dismissal. Edward hesitated then decided that rest did indeed sound good. It wasn't like Mustang could do anything at the moment. Whatever hell there was to pay tomorrow, he could pay it better after a good night's sleep.


	2. Chapter 2: In which there is much discus...

Edward spent the next morning practicing what he'd say to Colonel Mustang. He rehearsed arguments while being lectured on appropriate patient/health-professional relationships by the Ward Director. He debated the most persuasive line of reasoning while doing ward duties. By the time his shift in the laboratory took place, Edward had decided that Mustang could just go to hell.

"Bastard," he muttered under his breath, taking his place beside his research project. "Complete and utter bastard."

"You're not talking about me, I hope?"

Edward looked up into the kindly face of Doctor Matthews, head of research, and felt his face relax into a smile for the first time that day. No one could stay angry around Doctor Matthews. He was old, his face lined with the wrinkles that come from hard work. In that respect he reminded Edward of Dr. Marco. They had the same friendly manner, for all their seriousness. No matter how busy he was, you knew that Doctor Matthews always had time to listen to a struggling trainee.

"No, sir."

"Delighted to hear it. How are your results coming?"

Talking about the project always made him feel calmer. This was the part where alchemy came in. Although the trainees weren't expected to know any alchemy, the laboratory had two alchemists on hand to transmute the chemicals into the nutrients needed inside the artificial wombs the laboratory had developed. Right now, the trainees' jobs were to measure the reaction rates and consumption of the chemicals and monitor the growth of the foetuses. It should have been creepy work; the sterile glass 'wombs' used to keep the foetuses eerily like specimens in a chimera workshop, if it hadn't been for the knowledge that each of these containers held what could potentially be a human life. Each one of them came from parents, desperately hoping for a child of their own, and if the project succeeded, that wish would be granted.

"Excellent work, Elisabeth. I wish all my trainees were so methodical." Matthews added his stamp to the progress report attached to Edward's particular responsibility, 196-MV-C. "I hope you don't mind me saying so, but I recommend you continue in research. You seem much more suited to the laboratory than the ward." He paused, a teasing smile on his face. "Although rumour has it that your bedside manner impressed a certain Colonel very much yesterday . . ."

"Doctor!" Edward reddened furiously. "That isn't what happened! I would never--"

Matthews held up one conciliatory hand. "I was teasing. No one who knows your dedication to your work would believe that rumour for a minute. And if they did, I'm sure your boyfriend would put them straight."

Edward gave up.

"Oxygen feed is at optimum levels, growth rate steady, and you've allowed for the increase in waste products. Excellent." The Doctor made a note on the chart, then returned it to its position. "Have you noticed any irregularities?"

"Consumption rates of the different chemicals seem to vary, but that is consistent with the projected data," Edward reported, regarding the tiny being he was in charge of. It was weird, not human yet, not in anyway like a human. "Recently there's been an increase of unused oxygen in the waste."

"The level?"

"0.31, sir."

"Ah. That shouldn't cause problems." Matthews scribbled something in his notebook. "Still, we'd better keep an eye on that. As you know, this is the dangerous stage, where we lose most our foetuses."

"Actually, Doctor, about that . . . I've been thinking. Shouldn't it be possible to develop them faster, so they spend less time at risk?"

"Theoretically, it's possible," Matthews conceded, taking a quick look around the laboratory to check that he wasn't needed elsewhere. As most of Edward's peers seemed occupied checking the other glass wombs, he turned back to face Edward. "Although accelerating growth might reduce the danger in terms of the growth process, there is a lot to consider. Babies who do not go full-term often bear long-term effects."

"I know premature babies often suffer health problems, but accelerating the growth shouldn't mean that the development suffers. I've been working on a formula to account for the development of cardiac and cranial functions within an accelerated growth period," Edward held out his notes. "If you could take a look . . ."

Matthews nodded, glancing over them quickly. "I'll examine them after my lecture. Although, you must keep in mind that until we have determined the exact period the brain functions, and so forth, develop, any investigation into accelerated growth must remain mere speculat--" He broke off to look hard at Edward's calculations, then gave him a sharp, suddenly piercing look, so different from his usual affable smiles. "Who came up with these?"

"I did," Edward admitted, worried by Matthews tone. It was just a theory--

"We shall discuss this further later. Come to my office after the afternoon lecture."

"But I have ward duties then--"

"You're excused." Matthews folded Edward's notebook away inside his jacket. "For now, I strongly suggest that you don't discuss this matter with anyone else. And I do mean anyone." He regarded Edward sternly. "I'll see you at four."

By the time he reached the next trainee and her project, his manner was completely affable again. Edward watched him, wondering if he'd imagined the oddness of the exchange. Uneasy, he looked over the readings for his foetus once more. It was easier to concentrate on his project then to listen to the nagging feeling that something was wrong.

-----

"And now, if you'll turn to page two-hundred and fifty-nine of your textbook, we will examine the case for the liver being the centre of the body's nervous functions."

Edward felt like beating his head against the desk. Harving's lectures were usually boring, but they'd never been quite so abysmally dull before. Then again, with the knowledge that Matthews was looking over his notes, even a field excursion to the Museum of Alchemical Marvels would have been agony.

He gave up any pretense of paying attention, leaning his chin against the desk. As an afterthought he opened the notebook he used for classes. Matthews had the notebook with all his research in it, but he could still make use of his time.

He was halfway through designing an array that would be able to interface between a glass womb big enough for Al and the chemicals when a sudden touch to his shoulder made him jump. He hunched over his notes on instinct, knocking his textbook off the desk.

"Sorry!" Olivia leant over to retrieve the textbook, sliding into place next to Edward. "I only meant to ask if you minded if I sat here."

"Go ahead," Edward said, taking his textbook back. It wasn't like he could stop her at this point. He opened the textbook, watching Olivia warily. He'd learnt a few things about girls from the whole dormitory experience. When one asked if she could sit next to you, she really meant 'I want to talk to you.'

Olivia opened her textbook but didn't open her pencil case, confirming Edward's suspicions that the lecture was not the first thing on her mind. He was sure he wouldn't have to wait long to find out what she wanted to talk to him about. Olivia was both direct and blunt. On Edward's first day in the South dormitory, she had taken him into a quiet corner of the corridor and informed him that he was going about stuffing his bra in completely the wrong way. Edward had been both humiliated and very grateful as she then proceeded to give him advice on how to do so more realistically. Dressing like a girl was bad enough, but dressing like a girl and doing a bad job of it ... well, that was another level of shame entirely.

"Elisabeth, you know that patient last night who everyone's talking about . . . was he really a General?" Olivia asked carelessly, adjusting the light blue cardigan she wore over her uniform. Not strictly permitted, but as long as they didn't wear them in the wards, the senior nurses didn't object.

Edward blinked. He'd almost forgotten Mustang. "A Colonel," he corrected. "A very irritating one at that."

"Only a Colonel? Still, I suppose that's impressive for someone that young--"

"Come off it, Liv. You were looking, just like the rest of us." Helen leaned over from the row behind. Edward liked Helen, she was shorter than he was . . . and being a girl had no hope of a growth spurt. "And anyway, whatever happened to you and Scotts?"

Sebastian Scott was the junior doctor directly under Harving. Young, and passably attractive, most of the trainees had had their eyes on him at some point. A few weeks ago, when a rumour had spread that Scotts' favourite colour was blue, the Senior Matrons had had to fight a hard battle against blue nail polish, earrings, gloves, and so on, and so on. The list was as long as a night spent in the girl's dormitories listening to Maud and Alice complain about the lack of dating opportunities in the Maternal Clinic.

All this had come to a complete halt a mere two weeks since when Olivia and the Junior Doctor were observed going to dinner together. There had been further dinners, and coffee as well. Although both refused to comment, it was tacitly understood that Scotts was off the market.

Olivia looked at her textbook. "I'm not sure what you're implying, but our relationship is purely professional--"

"Which is why you're wearing a blue cardigan?" Edward asked slyly. Olivia blushed. Score one for Ed.

Harving coughed, with a pointed look in their direction. Helen sat down, and Olivia and Edward hastily looked at their textbooks. Satisfied, the Professor moved on. "Now, with regards to liver functions--"

Olivia let a few minutes pass. "So, what was your Colonel's name?" At Helen's look she added "There's no harm in asking."

"He's not my Colonel," Edward answered.

"Of course not. You already have a boyfriend."

"He's not--" Edward knew it was futile. "Colonel Mustang."

"The Colonel Mustang? The famous Flame Alchemist?"

"Isn't he supposed to be really good looking and romantic? And brave?"

"He's not that great," Edward said. He was ignored.

"To think we had someone that famous in the West ward!"

"He's not what I expected someone so famous to look like," Olivia said thoughtfully, twirling a finger around a strand of hair. "He was much more, you know. Unconscious."

"He spoke to me, you know." Karen leaned back in the row in front of them with an air of smug complacency and a uniform that was, as always, strategically arranged to display one white bra strap. That had been mildly interesting until Edward had walked in on her waxing her legs. He'd never managed to feel the same about her after that.

"And?"

Karen had probably been waiting all day to tell her story. "His voice? So deep and gorgeous--I wanted to die."

Pity you didn't, Edward thought balefully as she continued in the manner of a popular romance novel. It was amazing, a mere twenty minutes ago he'd thought Harving's lecture was bad enough. But no, Harving was boring, not nauseating.

"And he leaned into me, looking at me with his gorgeous, deep eyes, and I felt like I was going to faint! He was so close and--"

"What did he say?" Olivia sounded amused, tapping her pencil against the desk as she waited.

Karen pouted, obviously resenting the intrusion of reality into her narration. "Well, he asked me if I knew all the nurses here, and I said yes, and then he looked deep into my eyes--" Karen sighed dramatically. "And--"

Olivia raised an eyebrow.

"And asked what Elisabeth's name was," Karen surrendered to reality with growing resentment.

Edward blinked, feeling the attention of every girl in eavesdropping distance shift to him.

"You didn't tell us that."

"I didn't know!" Edward protested, holding up his hands to stave off Helen's look.

"Didn't you tell him she had a boyfriend?"

Karen pouted. "Of course, I did. I said 'Surely you don't mean Elisabeth Rockbell? She already has a boyfriend. A very dedicated boyfriend.' And he smiled and said 'The short grumpy nurse with the blond ponytail? A boyfriend?' And I said, 'Yes, they're ever so close.' And he had this pleased expression and he thanked me, and I was going to ask him if he had plans for the weekend, and the Ward Director came by and wanted to know why I wasn't doing anything. Of course, I didn't know then that he was a famous Colonel."

Edward had stopped listening by this point. He was watching, horrified, as his mind replayed exactly how that would have sounded to Mustang, complete with superior smirk and acid commentary. "That smug bastard--"

Olivia patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Don't feel too badly. Everyone falls for the 'Ministering Angel' line."

". . . huh?" Edward blinked at her.

"So you reminded him of his mother then? Or his childhood sweetheart?"

"I hate when they say 'sister'. They mean well, but it's kind of creepy."

"And 'mother' isn't?"

Edward held up a hand to stop them. "Can we go pause a moment? Okay, what are we talking about?"

"You don't know?"

"Of course!" Olivia was looking at Edward with sudden understanding and sympathy. "You hadn't done any nursing before this. So you wouldn't know."

"Know what?"

Karen straightened. Helen leaned in.

"Everyone falls in love with his nurse."

Edward waited for the punch line, but there was only a complacent satisfaction. "What?"

"There's a word for it. A kind of complex," Helen straightened her uniform absently. "You get used to it."

"You're not serious--"

"They're exaggerating," Olivia said, ever the voice of reason. "But you have to look out for that type. Then there are the ones that like the uniform."

"I'm so glad we're in Maternity."

Edward was wondering why no one had warned him. "And this happens often?"

"What I don't understand," Karen said, sounding aggrieved. "Is why Elisabeth. I mean, of all the girls in the ward--well, no offense, Elisabeth, but you're not exactly the most--" she gestured, "--developed."

"Karen!" Helen hissed, darting an anxious look towards Edward.

He blinked, unsure whether he should be shocked, relieved or embarrassed. This wasn't a situation he'd ever expected to be in. "That's not--"

"Don't be such a mother, Helen. Elisabeth must know that she has no hips to speak of and legs like tree trunks," Karen was on a roll, centre of attention. "The only explanation I can think of is that the Colonel must have been woozy with pain when he saw her, because obviously, if he'd seen her mouth--"

"What's wrong with my mouth?"

"Nothing," Helen said, a little too quickly for Edward's peace of mind. "Karen!"

"And don't get me started on her jaw! There were soldiers here last night that looked more feminine than she does--"

Warm fingers closed around his shoulder. Edward glanced up at Olivia in surprise. He'd never seen so cold an expression on her face. "Karen, I think you should apologise now."

The other girl looked startled a moment, then laughed. "Come off it, Liv. I'm not saying anything that anyone here hasn't thought. You know, the only thing more mysterious than this boyfriend of hers that no one ever sees is what strength glasses he needs--"

"Telling, isn't it, that despite all Elisabeth's so-called flaws, she has a steady boyfriend whereas you've never even been asked out for coffee."

There were a few muted giggles at that, and Karen's cheeks had an angry flush in them when she replied.

"I suppose you think a couple of dinners with Scotts makes you an expert?"

"It makes me more of an expert that someone who's first kiss was her cousin."

The balance of power had definitely shifted. Edward wasn't sure exactly when it had happened, but Olivia was smiling now, cool and collected, and Karen was growing whiter and whiter.

"It's not as if Scott's is much of a catch. He's what, 24? And still a Junior--"

"That didn't stop you trying for him, though, did it?" Olivia was triumphant. "A pity he doesn't go for girls with more make-up than personality." She paused. "You know, you've answered your own question. The reason the Colonel chose Elisabeth was that he had a good look at you."

Karen's jaw tightened and she glared at Olivia, but could not reply.

"Girls!"

Edward blinked. How long had Harving been trying to get their attention?

The professor tapped his watch meaningfully. "I appreciate your interest in the subject matter, but we need to clear the hall for the next lecture."

The time! Edward glanced at the clock, shovelling his books into his bag and standing in one movement. He couldn't be late--

Olivia caught up with him just outside the door. "Elisabeth--are you all right? Walk with me to the wards."

"Thanks, but I'm fine. I have to go talk to Doctor Matthews about something . . ." He was going to be late.

Olivia looked at him carefully. "Look, what Karen said was completely out of line. You can't let her get to you--"

Edward blinked. She thought-- "I'm fine," he repeated. "I really do have to talk to Doctor Matthews. I have an appointment and everything." Olivia still looked like she thought he was waiting until he was completely alone to burst into tears so he added, "Look, fulfilling the ideal of womanly beauty is not exactly a priority of mine' -- and that was the truth and a half -- "so I'm not going to let the opinion of someone who relies on her bra strap to pass her classes upset me."

Olivia smiled and squeezed his hand. "Good. You know, you can come by my room any time to talk--"

"Thanks." Edward was surprised how much he meant that. "If I don't go now, I'm going to be late--"

"See you later!" Olivia waved, and Edward ran.

------

Matthews' office resembled a small library with a desk and easy chair. Books covered all the available surfaces, in piles where there wasn't shelf space. Some of the titles Edward recognised, volumes on biological theory that the National Alchemists Library didn't even carry. There were more that he didn't recognise. His fingers itched.

"Now then," Matthews waved him to the easy chair, and lent against his desk. "We can talk."

"Yes, Sir." On any other occasion the chair would have been comfortable. So why did he still feel like he was about to be told off?

"Elisabeth, I've read over your notes thoroughly. Before we discuss them, I'd like you to tell me a bit about them. How did you come up with the idea to accelerate growth in the first place?"

"Well, it made sense," Edward admitted, hesitantly. He had Elisabeth's shy personality to keep up, after all. "Babies aren't designed to be made in a glass womb. The very atmosphere puts them at risk. There are airbourne germs, temperature fluctuations, risk of contamination. The sooner they are able to survive outside of the made womb, the better for the baby."

"How did you make the transition from that thought to accelerating growth theory? Someone must have suggested it to you?"

Edward shook his head. "No one did. It seemed the logical progression." Actually, the progression had been in the other direction. Alphonse would need a full sized body, after all. Edward would never hear the end of it if his brother had to go through childhood twice.

"But you must have had help with the formulas. One of the teaching staff? Or perhaps one of the trainee doctors--"

"I've been drawing heavily on Peterson and Heller's previous studies, but not completely. I wasn't satisfied with their governing principle." Edward's tone grew more enthusiastic as he warmed to his topic. "You see, I hoped that by replacing the root of the equation with the law governing organic matter, growth could be accelerated safely--"

The Doctor nodded occasionally, but didn't interrupt. He regarded Edward closely.

"And that's it. Sir." Edward drew in a breath and waited. It was the only thing he could do.

"You didn't mention you had a history in alchemy in your application," Matthews said thoughtfully, his chin resting on one hand. "I'm sure I'd have remembered a student from the alchemist's college."

"Ah--" He had deliberately left that off his application. "I'm self taught. Mostly."

"I see." Matthews raised an eyebrow then. "This level of familiarity is rare in someone with no practical talent for alchemy." The challenge was clear; a non alchemist would have difficulty in producing such formulas.

"What should I demonstrate on?"

"How about the beaker in the corner?" Matthews suggested. "That is the chemical feed we use in the laboratory. Separate all of the chemicals into their different elements."

Edward nodded, his chalk already in hand. So, yes, he didn't need the array, but this was the first time he'd tried something so precise with chemicals. Why not do it by the book?

The smell of the chalk reminded him of Al, and he couldn't help but smile as he finished the last symbol. His brother might complain about the inconvenience of being reliant on arrays, but Edward couldn't say he minded. Far better than the alternative of Alphonse paying the cost of knowing . . . He set the beaker in the middle, placed his hands either side of the circle and pushed.

Mere seconds later the chemicals floated in neat layers in the beaker.

"It won't last long," Edward said, handing the beaker to the doctor. "The reactive rate of some of these chemicals goes without saying."

"Of course." Matthews held the beaker up to the light, studying it carefully. "A remarkably fine separation. You broke everything down to molecule form and then rewove them into their respective elements?" At Edward's nod, he set the beaker down. "A result in keeping with the mind which could produce these formulas."

It was a compliment, but Edward still didn't feel at ease. "Thank you, Sir."

Matthews turned over Edward's notes again, the thin rustle of paper the only sound in the room. After a considerable pause, he spoke, his tone much more like the kind professor Edward was used to. "You've been working on these a long time."

There would be little sense in denying that. "Yes, Sir."

"The theory is sound. There are a few errors, of course, in application, but your process is well thought out and balanced," Matthews tucked the notes away in his jacket again, giving Edward a measured look. "I think we'll take this conversation to the lab. After you, Miss Rockbell."

At least he hadn't said it was outright impossible, Edward reflected. Still, he'd blown his cover. Even if Matthews didn't know who he was exactly, he knew he wasn't a normal trainee. That thought alone was worrying enough to keep Edward in silence the walk to the lab.

"Ladies first," Matthews said, opening the door.

Edward suppressed the reflex to kick him in the shins and stepped through the door. The hardest part about being disguised as a girl was remembering he was disguised as a girl. He tugged on the edge of his uniform as he waited for Matthews to turn on the lights and follow him into the room.

The lab looked different at night. True, there was little natural light in the lab during day, but now the shadows seemed longer, the light a little more false. It was strange to see the lab so empty, and somehow wrong. You wouldn't leave a baby alone in a darkened room. These weren't babies yet, and there was a chance they would never be, but it still felt wrong. Out of habit, he stopped in front of his project, checking the readings. Not much had changed since the lab session that afternoon.

"These are human lives. Not just experiments."

"I know that, Sir."

Matthews rested a hand on the thick glass wall of Edward's project, studying the growth within. "We are barely sure of safely bringing these babies through gestation. You think that experimenting with a procedure that is untried and could have unknown impacts on these lives is justifiable?"

"If it works, it could make it possible to develop every one of these foetuses fully and safely!" Edward insisted. "That's why--"

"You're prepared to try something that might result in the death of your charge?"

Edward looked at his project. It was really kind of ugly, all pink and swollen. All the same--

"Have you been to the incubator room, Elisabeth?"

"No, Sir. Trainees aren't allowed in their without the Matron's permission, and we don't begin premature birth until next week."

"Come with me. I think you'll find it enlightening."

If the nurse on duty in the incubator ward was surprised to see Doctor Matthews show up out of duty hours with a trainee, she was too well trained to show it, or indeed express any reaction whatsoever. She nodded as Matthews asked her to wait outside while they talked, taking her knitting with her as she left.

Alone now, Matthews ushered Edward over to the nearest incubator. "Look."

Edward looked.

To be honest, his first reaction was revulsion. The little thing curled up amongst the tubes and feeds looked like a bright, overcooked sausage. Its face was all scrunched up, and bright pink fingers clutched at a blanket. It was sleeping, and it had to be one of the ugliest things he'd seen in his life.

Then the baby yawned, wriggling slightly, caught up in the wires. Edward found himself reaching instinctively to free it. It was so little, smaller even than a regular baby, and so fragile--

"Can I ... ?" he asked, looking to Doctor Matthews.

"You can touch, but try not to disturb her. She needs rest."

The pink skin was warm and soft, and she sighed again, seemingly soothed by the touch of Edward's fingers. She was still ugly, her face set in an expression of distinct disapproval, but ugly in a way that only made it all the more necessary to protect her.

"Is this the first time you've seen a newly born baby?"

"Nah. When I was 12 I saw a baby being born. Of course, she was bigger and more wrinkled . . ." He hadn't seen Elicia in ages. Maybe Al and he should drop by on his next free afternoon. She must be starting school soon . . .

Matthews smiled. "Is that how you got into nursing?"

"No, I'm doing this for my brother." The response was automatic, lulled out of him by the presence of the baby. He realised immediately after of course, but by then it was too late.

"Your brother?" The Doctor waited.

"Yes. He--uh, well--" Of all the times to forget. "There was an accident." Edward took a deep breath. "And my brother was dying. There was an alchemist. He was, uh, experimenting with um, soul transmutation and well, my brother--" He swallowed helplessly. He couldn't tell, but Matthews must see, must know he was lying --

"Soul transmutation?" Matthews was stern. "That's impossible! It's never been successfully documented. All the research shows that the displacement of the original soul has an adverse affect on any transfer. No one has ever survived--"

"You assume he used a live body."

There was a lengthy pause.

Matthews drew the Night Nurse's chair out from her desk in the corner and ushered Edward toward it. "All right, Miss Rockbell. Explain."

Edward took a deep breath. "I--I wasn't there, but he -- the Alchemist -- connected his soul to--" Armour was too recogniseable. Shit. Think, Ed!

"To?"

Edward remembered a fading country village and a figure who's steps weren't quite natural. "He'd been researching soul transmutation. He had these puppets--" He hated using Majihal's obsessed actions as an excuse, but it did make sense. "Human sized. He used that."

"Well, that does away with the resistance of the original soul," Matthews conceded. "But a soul is -- or at least, is presumed to be -- living matter. To bind it to an inanimate form would take a powerful binding agent--"

"Blood. His blood."

"My god." Matthews swallowed. "The cost must have been enormous."

Edward could hear his voice speaking clearly, as though someone else's. "It took his right arm."

The Doctor took a deep breath. "I'm presuming this Alchemist taught you what you knew? And as Soul Alchemy is a forbidden science--"

"Obviously, I couldn't list it on my application," Edward said. "Yes."

Matthews let out a deep breath. "Sucessful soul transmutation. My word. Well. That does explain your familiarity with advanced Alchemic principles--"

"But not yours."

Matthews blinked. His response was a little too rushed. "My dear child, what do you mean? My research relies on alchemy to such an extent that naturally I must be familiar with the basic tenements--"

"But the symbolism of the blood bond isn't a basic tenement," Edward met Matthew's eyes unflinchingly. "You realised that not only did the blood fit symbolically, but it breached the gap between soul and matter on a physical level as well -- and only an alchemist would understand the cost of working in blood."

Silence stretched as they measured each other. Edward met Matthew's eyes unafraid. He knew he was right--

"Well," Matthews said at last. "I don't think we need to tell the Board of Directors about this."

"Understood, Sir."

Matthews let out a breath, polishing his glasses on his sleeve. "Now, then. From what you've told me and what I already know of you, Miss Rockbell, it's clear you have your own agenda in enrolling here?"

"I want to create a new body for my brother," Edward explained. "In a way that won't harm anyone else, or take anything that isn't ours."

"And you chose this maternity clinic because . . . ?"

"I've been researching the possibility of creating an entire human body for a while now," Edward admitted. "That led into Medical Alchemy. When methods of accelerated healing and growth were mentioned, two names always came up. The research pioneered by the team of Matthews and Zimmer." Matthews' face was grave, forbidding. Edward pressed forward anyway--he'd come too far. "I read all of the research the two of you came up with. It looks like you were on the edge of a breakthrough when the war happened and . . ." Edward shrugged. "No one seems to know what happened but Zimmer disappeared and you went into a research position at a quiet Maternity clinic attached to a Nursing School."

"So you enrolled here," Matthews' voice was cool. "And then what?"

"I thought that if I enrolled, I'd at least get to learn your methods. I was hoping that if I learnt enough here, I could apply them to the research you'd done and understand what you meant to do with it. Then I could develop my own method --"

"Your own method?" Matthews asked sharply. "You do not intend to ask me for my research, then?"

"You obviously have reasons for not continuing it," Edward explained. "And this is my brother. He's my responsibility. I must find a way to restore him with my own research and work. It's Equivalent Trade."

Matthews was still looking at him, but this time something had changed. "You," the Doctor said slowly, "are the most remarkable young woman I've ever met."

He had no idea.

"Your theory is sound," Matthews drew Edward's notes out of his coat. "Your grasp of alchemy far exceeds your age." He shuffled through the pages. "What you propose is not only sound in theory, but I venture to suggest, possible on a practical level."

Edward couldn't help the sudden rush of hope. Al! "It's possible?"

Matthews held out Edward's notes, now covered in corrections, side notes, and complicated formulae. "There's a lot of work you'll have to do before we're anywhere near approaching this. You'll need to make allowances for the nutrient feed. Amount of oxygen needed will increase exponentially with the rate of accelerated growth, and I suggest you start again from scratch with your growth formulas."

Edward accepted his notes, mind spinning. So much to take in and surely he's heard wrong. "Before we're near . . . ?"

"As it happens," Matthews said. "I have an opening for a research assistant."

Edward gaped. The most he'd thought he could hope for was Matthews' silence, but the Doctor was offering to help him? "You mean--"

"I've not created an adult before, just applied the acceleration process successfully to an infant. We shall have to do a great deal of reseach, I think. I'll arrange to have your ward duties reassigned to time working on my project, and I'll rearrange your courses to the bare minimum of what you'll need for this project. Do you think you could handle a second year paper?"

"If it will help Al," Edward said, scarcely believing his luck. The break they'd been wanting for --

"I must, however, urge strictest secrecy." The severity in Matthews' voice was strong enough even to cut through Edward's exhiliration. "If it became known, or indeed, even suspected, that it was possible to produce a fully functioning human in a matter of weeks, there are certain ... shall we say, parties, that might take an interest in it. An undesirable interest."

Undesirable . . . ? "Does this have something to do with the reason you discontinued your research?"

"It does." Matthews sighed. "As you're no doubt aware, Zimmer and I were the pioneers in accelerated healing processes. Our reasearch created a lot of interest among fellow medics and alchemists alike, even the military." He shook his head. "And then the war."

His expression forcibly reminded Edward of Doctor Marco.

"Medics were drafted into field duty. I won't go into details in front of a lady," Matthews continued. "But I will say that the suggestion was made to use our research to craft a 'better' soldier. We protested, of course, but it was wartime . . . Zimmer's death was almost a godsend. He handled the alchemy, and he shared his workings with no one. Without him . . . well, the military lost interest and I was able to take up a quiet life here." He looked closely at Edward. "You see, of course, what would happen if word got out that I'd started research into accelerated growth? It would not be long before experiments began into the possibility of crafting more exceptional babies. And why stop at infants? Someone might make the jump you did and realise that someone with the right resources could create a human adult."

Edward could see the implications of that. "You're afraid that someone will start mass producing humans--improved humans--an army--"

Matthews' grave expression was at odds with his normally cheerful face. "You see why no one must know?"

"I see." And he'd just blurted his own research out to Mustang without any thought for the consequences--he was an idiot! Still, Mustang wasn't exactly your average officer; he did have some qualms. Ambitious though he was, there were some things he wouldn't stoop to. He hoped.

"Don't look so dispirited, my dear." Edward looked up in surprise as Doctor Matthews patted him on the shoulders. "I believe that we can develop your idea without anyone being the wiser. I'll talk to the Director about transferring you to my research project tonight. In the meantime, I suggest you take a look at these texts--" Matthews scribbled some names on the top of Edward's notes. "There. Now, if you hurry, you might still have enough time for your ward duties."

------------------

At last. Edward kicked off his heels before the door to his room was even finished closing, dumping his headscarf a moment later. The ever-anal Ward Director had decided that, permission from Matthews or not, Edward should not be allowed to leave the ward until he'd made up for the time he was late, irrespective of the fact that with the other trainees having finished and the patients napping, nothing remained to be done. Edward's temper was frayed enough without adding the trainee uniform to it, and it was with relief immense that he undid the crisp uniform dress.

It wasn't until he had an arm free and most of the chest undone that he realised he had an audience.

"Please," Mustang drawled, comfortable and amused in the sitting chair. "Don't stop on my behalf."


	3. Chapter 3: Uninvited guest

"I did not," Edward said, arms folded defensively over the longest overshirt currently in his wardrobe, "scream like a girl." He glared with menace at Mustang, who was now flipping through one of Edward's textbooks and looking far too amused.

"I thought it was very in-character," the Colonel said, raising an eyebrow at a full colour diagram of cranial functions. "Very in keeping with your disguise. Is this really what our heads look like from the inside?"

Edward grabbed the textbook away from him. "If you're six months into gestation, then yes. But you're missing the important thing here."

"I was looking at that," Mustang protested mildly. He had just enough time to duck.

The book bounced off the wall where his head had been with enough force to rattle all the books on Edward's one overloaded shelf. "I don't care! Just say what you want and go away!"

"Edward, Edward," Mustang sighed, placing a hand over his heart in an overly theatrical manner that meant he was now being deliberately provoking and knew it. "How cruelly you wound me." He paused for effect. "Did it occur to you that I might be visiting you for reasons that are entirely altruistic?"

Edward stared at him. Then began to laugh.

He was still laughing five minutes later, when Mustang's patience ran out. "It's not that funny," the Colonel protested stiffly.

If Edward had been able to voice a reply, he would have argued that. As it was, he had just enough breath to gasp weakly, wiping tears away from his eyes.

"That's better," Roy said, satisfied. "As I was saying, there are times when I pay visits to acquaintances with no ulterior motives--" His expression soured as Edward collapsed again under another onslaught of laughter, clutching his ribs. "Do you think the dormitory has a good sprinkler system?" He drew his glove from his pocket.

That got Edward's attention. He threw himself in front of his note books. "I'm not laughing!"

Mustang folded the glove away with satisfaction. "Good. Now where were we?"

"You were about to leave?"

The Colonel ignored Edward, settling back comfortably in the armchair. "Ah, yes. I just happened to be in the neighbourhood and thought I'd drop by."

"So you snuck into my room?" Edward cautiously stopped hunching over his notebooks and began putting them in order.

"Edward, do you really think so little of me?" At his companion's expression, Mustang explained. "I'm in uniform -- a colonel in uniform does not sneak."

Edward paused, notebooks forgotten as a horrifying possibility crossed his mind. "You didn't--"

"Your dorm-manager let me in."

"Gah!" Edward wished that Pinako had taught them the really good swear words. He could do with a couple right now. "You didn't -- damn, now everyone's going to know!" He hit himself over the head with his good hand. "What are people going to think?"

Roy patted his shoulder. "That you have good taste in men?" he suggested silkily. He laughed as he avoided Edward's clumsy swing, using his greater reach to keep Edward at arm's length as the boy tried furiously to hit him.

"You don't have to look so smug about this!" Edward yelled, finally realising it was useless.

Roy patted him on the head. "Now, then, Fullmetal, why don't you tell me what you've been up to?"

"You know what I've been up to; I told you last night," Edward grumbled, swatting Mustang's hand away and deliberately turning his back on him, returning to gathering up his notebooks.

"Ah, but not in any detail." Roy waited a moment, but when it was clear that there were no details forthcoming, prodded. "So, how was your day?"

Edward eyed him suspiciously. Just what was he after now? Step-by-step description of Edward's research methods? "Okay," he admitted reluctantly. "The morning lab was much the same as ever, and the afternoon lecture was boring, but I might be making progress with my research."

"That sounds promising." Roy picked up the last of the scattered notebooks and held it out to Edward.

The alchemist snatched it quickly, not trusting Roy at all. "Yeah, well, it's slow work. Not exactly your style." He began putting the notebooks away on the shelf, hoping the Colonel would get the hint.

He didn't. Mustang leaned against the wall beside him, watching as he worked. "And how is your brother?"

"Alphonse?" Edward jumped as Mustang lent in, playing with the base of his ponytail, just where the hair met his nape.

"Do you have another?"

Mustang was so close that his breath tickled. Edward studiously ignored him. The Colonel was obviously fishing for a reaction. "Al's just fine."

"Oh? One might think that he would be lonely apart from his older brother."

"They'd be wrong. We can manage being apart from each other, you know. We're perfectly capable." Edward shoved the last book back on the shelf and ducked out of Mustang's reach. "Al turned sixteen last month. We're adults now."

"Sixteen? I'm sorry I missed his birthday."

"Ah, its okay. I managed to get the whole day off. It was great. Gracia and Elicia took us out to dinner and we spent the day at the Museum of Alchemical Marvels." Edward grinned at the memory.

"You took your brother to the Alchemy Museum for his sixteenth birthday?"

"No," Edward said, defensive without quite being sure why. "Al chose it. It was his birthday."

"I see." How could those two little words manage to be so irritating? Edward would have ground his teeth if he hadn't thought it would amuse the Colonel even further. "You keep in close contact, I imagine?"

"Yes," Edward admitted. "So? A phone call every other day doesn't mean anything."

"One would be surprised if you didn't miss each other." Now Roy was doing the superior adult knowledge thing. "Especially given that the two of you are usually like each other's shadows."

"Shows what you know," Edward's tone was lofty. "We're dedicated alchemists, you know. And it's not like we haven't been apart for long periods of time. We were apart almost a week once when we visited Izumi and I forgot about the yearly exam and had to go to Central by myself." Although the main reason it had been a week was that Al had managed to get himself kidnapped in the few days Edward was in Central--

"All things considered," Roy was smirking again. "I must say, I think you're handling the separation remarkably well."

"Thank you," Edward said warily.

"Very well, in fact. That's a very pretty dress you're wearing, Edward."

"I'd have thought it's more utilitarian -- hey!" It was lucky he'd put the notebooks away; he had the urge to throw something at Mustang's head, again. "Just what are you implying?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all." Roy was seating himself in the armchair like he owned it. "And what does your dear brother think of the dress?"

"He hasn't seen it, and if all goes to plan, he never will."

"And how will you manage that?"

"None of your business."

"Ah, but Edward --" Roy looked at him intently, and Edward found himself caught. His mouth went dry but he couldn't look away. "You're very much my business."

He smiled, catlike, and the look deepened. There was an edge to it now that was almost -- predatory?

Edward took a step back, not sure what had changed but distrusting it. "I'm not--" he started, not sure what he was going to say.

Someone thumped on the door.

"Come in!" Roy called.

That snapped Edward out of it. "Hold it!" He demanded. "This is my room! I'm the one who says 'come in.'" He paused for effect. There was giggling on the other side of the door. "Come in if you must."

Judith stuck her head around the door; Sally and (thank god for small miracles) Olivia, were there as well. "Elisabeth--oh, you have a guest?"

Edward gave Judith a look that said clearly how unimpressed he was. Did she really think she was fooling anyone? However, Judith wasn't looking in his direction.

"Guest would imply he was invited," Edward grumbled as the girls made themselves comfortable on his bed. "He wasn't." He gave Mustang an acid glare, hoping he would finally take the hint.

Mustang was only looking more amused. "Surely you will introduce me to your charming friends . . . " He paused. "Elisabeth."

Edward whitened. Oh, shit. With just one word Roy could ruin everything! How had he not realised--

Olivia shifted closer, and Edward could see that she was watching him closely. Get a hold of yourself, Ed--

"Jude, Sally, Olivia, this is Colonel Roy Mustang. Mustang, this is Judith Law, second year; Sally Hulme, first year; Olivia Naylor; first year. There, I hope you're all happy."

"Delighted," Roy lied, and Judith and Sally giggled. Edward could have groaned; this was a thousand times more nauseating than Karen in romance novel mode. He watched, glumly, as Sally, blushing prettily, said she'd never met anyone so famous before. As if Mustang's ego needed anymore fuel.

"Don't encourage him or we'll never get rid of him."

Mustang laughed, charming and suave. "Why Elisabeth, you sound almost as though you want me to leave." He smirked, drawing giggles from Judith and Sally.

Edward hated him.

Judith's elbow nudged his side. "Oh, Elisabeth! Surely you don't want to keep this enchanting man to yourself?"

Enchanting? Excuse me?

"Yes," Sally chimed in. "You have a boyfriend." She tucked a strand of hair behind an ear, ducking a look at Mustang to make sure he'd heard.

Judging from his expression of supreme enjoyment he had. "Ah, yes, the much vaunted boyfriend. I have to say, I'm growing very curious about this extraordinary individual."

Edward was about to throw him out of his room, secret or not, but Olivia's words stopped him.

"Actually," she said, studying Mustang's face coolly. "That's why we came to fetch you, Elisabeth. He's on the phone."

Shit! "And you couldn't have told me earlier?" Edward growled, running for the door.

"It slipped our minds," Judith and Sally giggled in a sickly-sweet way.

"Whatever. Look --" Edward paused in the doorway to glare at Mustang, "Don't set anything on fire while I'm gone. And you guys --" he frowned at the girls. Judith and Sally were obviously a lost cause, but Olivia looked thoughtful. "Don't encourage him."

Karen looked up sulkily from the magazine she was leafing through in the common room. "Took your time."

Edward grabbed the dormitory's single phone, holding a hand over the speaking end of the receiver. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"I'm waiting for a call," the girl said, self-important.

Edward waited.

With a glare, Karen folded up her magazine and sulked off down the hall to her room. "If you tie up the phone for an hour like you usually do, I'm telling the Matron."

The door of her room clicked shut behind her and Edward sighed in relief. He took another breath before lifting the headset. "Al?"

"Niisan!" It was so good to hear Alphonse's voice. Edward smiled at the familiar feeling of relief. "Did something happen? You didn't call last night, and I've been waiting ages--"

He could picture Alphonse, twisting the phone cord as he spoke. "Yeah, sorry about that." Even though his brother couldn't see him, Edward found himself rubbing the back of his neck in an embarrassed fashion. "The girls weren't exactly prompt in telling me you were on the phone."

"But you're all right?"

"Give me some credit." Edward sprawled on the dormitory sofa comfortably. Somehow talking to his brother always made him more relaxed. "I can go two days without causing a major catastrophe."

"Niisan--" Alphonse had that reproving tone in his voice.

"Yeah, I know, I know. But if anything did happen to me, I would tell you right away."

"I know." Alphonse sounded happier. That was good; Edward couldn't have his little brother upset. "Um, the girl who answered the phone said something about your having a guest?"

"Yeah." Oh, fuck. "As a matter of fact, we've got a problem."

"Niisan!" He could hear Alphonse's expression. "You should have--"

"I didn't have time. Some soldiers were injured, emergency situation, and we had to patch them up. And one of them happened to be Mustang--"

"He recognised you?"

"Bitched me out for not reporting in and threatened me with Hawkeye. He knows or has guessed enough of what I'm doing here to guess our intentions--"

"Niisan! If he--"

"I don't think he has. I mean, I was expecting all day today to be hauled in front of some military tribunal and all he's done so far is smirk at me and flirt with my classmates. Unless this is part of some horrible revenge--"

"Niisan--"

"Fuck, it is, isn't it? He's planning to annoy me so much that I throw in the towel and go meekly back to Central -- that bastard!"

"Niisan, I don't think that's what he's planning."

"You don't know how this man works, Al," Edward warned. "He's a twisted individual." He was doomed.

"It doesn't matter what Mustang is planning," Alphonse insisted. "You've got to lose him as soon as possible."

"Easier said than done," Edward answered morosely. "He invited himself to my room. He's probably still making faces at Judith and Sally as we speak--"

"He's still there? Quickly, Niisan, now's our chance!"

"Eh?"

"If we meet at the train station, we can be in a different town before daybreak--"

"Al--"

"Don't worry about packing! I'll bring everything we need!"

"Al! We're not running!"

The other end of the line went so quiet Edward was afraid he might have been cut off.

"Al?"

"Niisan, are you insane?" And people said Edward had volume. "Mustang's found you, we can't stay!"

"Look, Al, it will be okay. I think we can manage this."

Silence again and then, "What did he do?"

Edward sighed. "He didn't do anything."

A couple of girls giggled as they passed on the way back to their rooms, and Edward straightened hastily, bringing his legs together quickly and tugging his skirt down. Damn -- must act ladylike.

"Niisan!" Al now had the 'rapidly losing patience' tone in his voice. "What did he do?"

"Al, really. He hasn't done anything. Not that I trust him, but all he's done so far is swan about in that irritating way of his."

Alphonse's response, when it finally came, didn't sound very happy. "Truth?"

"Truth," Edward assured him. "Look, I don't know what he's up to, but I'm sure I'll find out soon and once I do -- then, if we have to, we'll run."

"Niisan, I don't like this. I don't want you to be in danger just for my cure--"

"Our cure, Al. Or have you forgotten that you're going to fix me up once we get your body back?"

"You sound very confident, Niisan."

"Yeah, I talked to Matthews today. I think we finally got the break we need -- he looked at my notes and he thinks it's possible."

"Niisan!" Alphonse was breathless, excited. "Really?"

Edward smirked, kicking back. "We got a lot of work to do first; but he wants to make me his research assistant. If he gets permission, I'll be able to do second year papers --" Edward couldn't help grinning widely. "Al, I think this time--"

"Niisan." Alphonse's voice was full of emotion.

They sat there in silence a few moments, and it was almost like there was no phone. He could lean back and find himself resting against Alphonse's armoured body. The feeling was so strong, Edward shut his eyes, blocking out the drab dormitory walls.

"So, Al, tell me about the house."

Alphonse's voice was much more cheerful as he talked about the house. They'd realised that they'd need a place to set up a laboratory, and most likely a place for them to recover after the cure. Hotels and guest houses were out, and they didn't want to rent -- it would be hard explaining any traces of an experiment to the landlord. 'How did we get blood stains on the ceiling? Funny thing that. You see, we were experimenting with forbidden alchemy and --" No.

The obvious answer, then, was to buy a house.

Edward had spotted Alphonse mooning over the 'For Sale' section of the Central Bulletin. "Wouldn't it be nice, Niisan, to have somewhere we could call ours again?" He'd looked bashful as soon as he said that, hiding behind the newspaper hastily. "Not that I regret what we did, but sometimes --"

Edward had said nothing, but he'd made an appointment with a real estate agent the next day.

"It makes sense," he told Alphonse. "We're going to need a base for our research and, well, we don't have to run anymore. We're making a new life for ourselves; why shouldn't we have a house?"

The initial fuss over their ages had been settled by Gracia Hughes joining them to act as their guardian. Alphonse and Edward had then proceeded to meticulously examine and reject countless stylish townhouses, villas, and apartments, finally settling on the property the real estate agent considered most unsuitable. He'd tried to talk them out of the wide, sprawling garden, the town house that, though structurally sound, had not been kept up for years and the interior, which was, frankly, horrendous. Alphonse and Edward were adamant: This was their house.

It looked like a home. True, it had seen better days, and there was grass growing on the roof tiles, but it had a comfortable, lived-in feeling that none of the other houses had. It would take a lot of work to get it ready to be lived in, but without their Father around, the boys had been conscripted into doing 'the man's job' about the house more often than not. It was settled: While Edward worked on a cure in the Maternity clinic, Alphonse would work on their house.

"I've got the kitchen almost finished. I've got a plumber coming by tomorrow morning to fix the pipes there and in the bathrooms, and I finished painting today."

"Sounds great. Did you manage to find a table you liked?"

"Not yet, Niisan. If the plumber comes early enough tomorrow, I might be able to have a look before I meet you at the cafe."

He'd almost forgotten. "I'll see you then. Hey, Al, if you get time, could you look into something for me? See if you find out anything about what happened to Matthews and Zimmer in the war. Especially Zimmer."

"Is there a reason, Niisan?"

"Just a feeling." Some girls came into the dorm room, and Edward straightened. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Niisan, what happened to your voice?"

"My what?" Damnit, Alphonse had heard him using Elisabeth's voice.

"You sound different --"

Edward laughed nervously, conscious of the girls still lingering by the bookshelf. "Must be a fault with the connection. Well, got to go, Al! I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Niisan, wait--"

Edward replaced the phone with relief. If Alphonse ever saw him like this, he would die.

"Trouble in paradise?"

They were third years, not students he was familiar with. Edward was uncomfortable with the way their eyes lingered over him, their smiles a little too polished. "I wouldn't say that," he said, standing, eager to retreat to his room.

"Be careful," the taller of the two trilled, the malicious note now clear in her voice. "You don't have nearly enough poise to handle a steady boyfriend and keep an army colonel on the side."

Edward ground his teeth; the rumours had got that far already? "I didn't ask Mustang to come here."

"Whatever. Give it up, and tell your Colonel that if he wants a real woman to give us a call."

This was an argument Edward knew he couldn't win. He wasn't even going to try. He headed back to his room with as much offended dignity as he could muster, looking forward to burying himself in a notebook and pretending the last few hours had never happened.

He paused, hand on his door handle. There were voices inside his room -- he'd forgotten Mustang was still there. Edward sighed. The last thing he wanted to do now was try and persuade Mustang to leave --

"-- not even sure she's legal."

That was . . . Olivia?

Edward tightened his hold on the door, Mustang forgotten, as he listened. What was she doing?

"She doesn't have the experience the others do and sometimes the way she acts -- I'm almost certain she lied about her age on the application. Physical age aside, she's just not used to this sort of thing. No matter what your intentions are, I advise you to leave Elisabeth well enough alone."

"I assure you, Miss Naylor," That was Mustang, his voice radiating charm. "That my intentions are purely gentlemanly--"

"If I believed that I would not have needed to bring this matter up with you. What I've seen of your intentions so far does not impress me at all."

"Believe me, I would never press my attentions where they were truly unwanted--"

"Unwanted is one thing. Inappropriate is another." Olivia's voice was hard, and Edward thought he could hear Hawkeye in it. "You are a man of the world, at least ten years older than her, experienced, practiced and I'll admit, relatively good-looking--"

Only good-looking? Edward couldn't help a smirk at that. Mustang's ego must be taking a dive. But Olivia's next words caught him by surprise.

"I've no doubt that you could convince her to want you. The question that remains, though, is whether you should."

The hell? Who did Olivia think he was? As if he would ever in a million years -- Edward waited for Mustang to scoff at the mere idea.

"I see." He wasn't scoffing. Instead he sounded thoughtful. "You are concerned for Miss Rockbell's best interests then?"

"She's happy," Olivia said. "She's smart, smarter than most of the girls here. She has a future, and a boyfriend who obviously cares deeply about her. Whereas everyone in Central knows your reputation as a lady-killer. Can you really tell me you're what's best for her?"

"Your concern does you credit," Mustang said, and Edward was surprised to find him speaking openly, or at least as openly as he ever did, his voice free of either charm or authority. "However, Miss Rockbell means much to me. I've known her longer than you realise. I was an acquaintance of her father; I've seen her grow up. The last thing I want is to--"

The door to the dormitory hall opened, and at the sudden noise Edward jumped away from his door, startled.

Sebastian Scotts, still in his lab coat, gave her a bashful nod. "Did I startle you? I'm sorry. I was just looking for Miss Naylor."

Edward lent against the door, taking a moment to steady himself. "You're looking for Olivia?"

"Yes." Scotts fidgeted with one sleeve. "I have some quadratic equations I'd like to discuss with her."

Edward smirked. "Quadratic equations?"

He watched Scotts squirm in tortured embarrassment a few moments before taking pity on him, thumping on his door and opening it. "Oi, Liv! Doctor Scotts wants to discuss 'quadratic equations' with you."

Olivia coloured, but there was evident happiness in her eyes as she stood. "I'm glad we had this talk, Colonel," she said politely, squeezing Edward's shoulder lightly as she passed, joining Scotts in the corridor and leaving Edward and Mustang . . .

. . . alone.

"What happened to Jude and Sally?" Edward asked, finding the sudden silence unnerving. Mustang was looking at him. He didn't exactly want their inane giggling presence, but he could have done with a shield, some sort of distraction. Mustang was looking at him!

"The dorm manager came along to suggest they return to their rooms to prepare for curfew. I imagine I'll have to depart soon."

"That's too bad," Edward said with cheerful insincerity.

Mustang raised an eyebrow. "All those years of giving me reports and you still haven't managed to lie like you mean it."

"You know, some people value openness."

"They wouldn't be, I think, acquainted with your particular style of honesty, Fullmetal. I've heard the truth hurts, but I never realised you could bludgeon someone with it."

"So says the man who uses it as a weapon," Edward muttered darkly, surprised as Mustang laughed.

"Point taken," Mustang smirked at him. "So, tell me, Edward, is my presence really so unbearable?"

He hedged, unable somehow to say yes. "How many trainee nurses do you know that hang around with army colonels? You're going to get me noticed."

"You really think you're not noticed now?"

"I can pull this off!" Edward insisted, fists clenching. "I'm close; I can make this work! I have to! Colonel, please! Don't interfere--"

"Edward." Mustang cut off his heated plea. "I don't intend to stop you from pursuing your research here. However, I must repeat: Do you really think you're not noticed now?"

"The showers all have locks on them," Edward replied. "And I got permission to wear long gloves after I told the matron I was in an accident and--"

"That's not what I meant." Mustang reached over to tug the blue ribbon wound around Edward's ponytail free. This brought him suddenly close. Edward found himself staring dumbly at the ribbon being held startlingly close to Mustang's lips and wondering faintly when he'd stopped breathing. Mustang was looking at him again, a strange sort of knowledge in his eyes. "You really think that any amount of disguise is enough?"

Edward felt a sudden weight on his back and realised that the Colonel had stolen the hair-band as well. "Hey, I need that!" He snatched it back, turning his back to Mustang as he expertly gathered his hair up in one hand, biting down on the hair-tie as he stretched it ready with the other hand.

He realised his mistake as soon as he felt the hands on his shoulders. "Your disguise is certainly thorough," Mustang leaned in, running his fingers along the sleeve of one arm and pausing where the glove started. "But there are some things it can't hide--"

"Let go!" Edward tugged his hand away to elbow Mustang, but the Colonel anticipated this, catching his arm and using it to pull Edward to face him. The hand Edward threw out to steady himself somehow ended up on Mustang's chest and he froze in confusion.

Mustang took full advantage of this fact, naturally, letting skilled fingers brush Edward's cheek. "A mind like yours can't be hidden, Edward.Your soul, your drive--they show in your eyes as they ever did." The Colonel smiled, leaning in dangerously close. "You may have left the military, but your brilliance will call them after you all the same. What will you do when--" He paused.

Edward beamed at him. "You'll notice that wearing a trainee's uniform does not prevent me from performing alchemy."

Mustang looked as calm as one could with a piece of sharpened metal aimed at one's vital organs and let go of Edward. "Quite. I didn't notice you clap."

"You were too busy trying to convince me to join the military before the military found me, I imagine," Edward shrugged carelessly, enjoying being one-up on Mustang. Inconceivable, really -- the man never let his guard down. "I should tell you I intend on doing neither."

"Is that so?" Mustang had retreated, regaining some of his dignity. "In that case, it is surprising you have remained here, a place already known to the military." He straightened his collar meaningfully. "Either you are not as adverse to joining the military as you claim or--" he glanced at the notebooks "--you can't leave." The look he gave Edward then indicated he knew exactly which applied.

Damn. "Oh?" Edward shrugged. "Isn't it awfully presumptuous of you to assume you can predict my actions after two years of absence?"

"Nice indifference, Fullmetal. Someone less familiar with you might be fooled." Mustang's grin was pure revenge. "Someone who doesn't know that you tap your cheek when trying to be devious."

Damn him. Two years and he still couldn't get the better of him. Edward decided this would be over sooner if he just agreed. "Fine. I will write you a report."

"That's not--"

"Is next Tuesday okay? I have an essay due Monday."

"I didn't -- will you deliver it in person?"

"In person? What, are you mad?" Edward gestured to his outfit. "You think I can march into the military headquarters dressed like this?"

"You could always come as yourself."

"That would be even worse." Edward sneered in the manner of a high ranking army officer. "'Why, if it isn't the Fullmetal shrimp. I haven't seen you in what, a year? Two years? Have you been filing any reports? No? And I hear you haven't been reporting for duty either. I wonder what you've been up to then -- can't have been easy, you certainly haven't grown any.'" He scowled, seeing the scene all too clearly.

"Point taken." Roy smiled like the cat who has got the cream. "If I might suggest a more private location?"

"Such as?" Edward knew better than to expect a helpful answer from Mustang. Especially when he wore that expression.

"I know a very nice restaurant not far from here . . ."

"You have got to be out of your mind. If I meet you in a restaurant people might think -- they'll think -- oh, god, they'll think I like you!"

"How does seven sound?"

"Terrible!"

"Excellent. I'll be here to collect you at quarter to."

"No you won't!" If he left with Mustang he would never hear the end of it. "If I have to meet you, I'll meet you there."

"Edward, you don't want to go walking around these streets late at night in a nurse's uniform, do you?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I'll have Havoc collect you."

"No!" Edward's howl of protest was so loud his neighbour thumped on her wall. Edward folded his arms, glaring mutinously at Mustang as he continued the argument at a more acceptable volume. "Havoc will laugh at me."

"Edward, think of it this way. Havoc's already seen you. Anyone else I send won't have." Mustang paused. "I could ask Major Armstrong --"

"Havoc will do. But I'm not meeting him at the dormitory. He can wait at the end of the road."

"Agreed." Mustang ruffled his hair. "Then I'll see you Tuesday."

Edward grunted.

"Sulking is a most unladylike habit," the Colonel drew out his watch and checked it. "Ah, I'd better depart."

Edward watched him leave but didn't say anything. Yes, he was aware it was childish, but it did make him feel better.

"Oh, and Edward?" Mustang paused in the doorway, a charming smile on his face. "Wear something nice."

"Get out of my room you lecherous middle-aged old pervert!"

This time the neighbours on both sides, not to mention the floor above, thumped.


End file.
